


Don't Leave Me

by ameh



Category: Blink-182
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:39:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameh/pseuds/ameh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark watches Tom destroy himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> I switched things up and wrote something from Mark's perspective.  So surprise! - here's something different.  A bunch of me playing with HTML and shit is included as a bonus.  
> **I’m gonna be a fruitcake and dedicate this to Mich, because she's the reason I didn't stop writing it after the first few paragraphs.

          Here we are again, the same old scene.  You’re on the other side of the room, breath saturated with beer and sweet alcohol.  Your lip ring flicks back and forth against your skin - _a nervous habit_ \- while you exude a practiced and perfected fake confidence.   _Being the center of attention all the time is tough, isn’t it?_  
          They’ll never notice, though.  All those people around you with drinks in their hands and social standings on their minds - they don’t notice the little tell-tale signs, the cracks in your fake smile.  Why would they?  We both know they’re here solely for their own selfish gains.  You don’t mind that, though; you keep them here to satisfy selfish desires of your own.   I don’t think you’ll even remember a single one of their names tomorrow.  You’re not over there trying to impress them right now because you _like_ them, after all.  
          At the end of the day, you and I both know why you do this.  Even now, underneath that goofy punk rock mask you’re put on for the world, I can see how hard you’re trying to run from yourself.  Do you think I don’t know how you lie awake at night, when you’ve failed to intoxicate yourself to the point of passing out, loathing every single thing about your life?   _Come on, Tom. I know you better than you know you._  I’ve heard you break under the weight of it all, finally allowing those built up tears to fall and smother into your pillow when you think everyone else is asleep.   **I know, Tom.**   I know.

           **I let this happen.**

          The alcohol continues pouring into you.  I’m still over here watching as every drug you’ve forced into your body hits you, one by one.  This is the process lately.  Quite honestly, it’s fucking draining.  Your voice is getting louder; that ~~stupid~~ drink you have in your hand must be taking effect.  Your balance is steadily being replaced by staggers and swear words.   I hate watching you do this, and yet somehow I find myself hoping maybe tonight won’t be so bad for you.  
          You break my fucking heart, Tom.  Words can’t begin to convey how much this is destroying me.  I’ve watched how the old Tom - _my Tom_ \- disappeared into a haze of conscious-numbing substances.  You’re a stranger in the body of my best friend, while not being a stranger at all.  Sometimes, when we’re playing certain songs, I’ll catch a hint of my Tom in your eyes, and those are the moments I live for.  They’re small, they’re fleeting, but they’re all I have left of the Thomas Delonge that loved me.  
          Fuck, what are you doing to me?  I’m sitting here, watching you fucking demolish yourself.  Why am I not over there taking your shit away from you and telling you how goddamn stupid this is?   _Why can’t I stop you from killing yourself?_  
          I tried, you know.  I did.  I mean, fuck, maybe you don’t remember it, but...  What the fuck, you had a handful of painkillers in your system.  Finding a time to talk about all this when you’re sober isn’t exactly possible these days, man.  Maybe it’s my fault for not...  I don’t know.  _Something_ , you know?  Why didn’t I do something, anything \- Why?  I can’t tell you how much that question haunts me these days.  Even right now, while I’m sitting in a corner across the room from you, that question eats at me.  Why did any of it fucking come to this?  
          The last time I said something to you about all of this, you lost your mind at me.  You yelled and screamed and fought every second of the way, but I’d expected it.  I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to face.  What stopped me in my tracks was when you gave up, resigned, and looked me dead in the eyes with a sadness on your face that was only surpassed when you finally spoke.

           **”Why did you wait until it’s too late to care?”**

          Well, Tom, why didn’t you ever come to me?  Isn’t that what _best friends_ do when they have a problem - they ask for help?  
          You used to come to me with all your problems, no matter how big or small they were.  I was there through your parents’ divorce, all your shitty jobs, when your brother joined the military, your stupid blonde hair, that never-ending hangnail you had.  I’ve been here through everything with you.  So, naturally, I thought you’d come to me this time, too.  
          I waited.  I didn’t pry.   _I waited._  I tried not to bring it up so I wouldn’t push you away if you weren’t ready.   _I kept waiting._  
           **Nothing.**  
           Now I’m left either listening to you fall to pieces at night or checking to make sure you’re still breathing after you finally manage to pass out in your idea of intoxicated bliss.  It’s gotten to where I’ll come try to sleep close to you so I can be there if you need help.  I don’t sleep.  All I do is listen to you breathe.   ~~I’m just so scared that you’ll stop.~~  
          This wouldn’t tear me up so bad if it was anyone else.  I wouldn’t react like this.  I don’t even worry about myself this much.  This isn’t about me.  This is about someone I think more highly of than I do myself.  This is about that brown-eyed Sagittarius with freckles you can only see when you’re too close.  It’s about that _smile,_ the one that could light up the darkest room, the one I haven’t seen in too long.  
          You’ve laid down now.  All the distractions in your system must have finally worked for you.  Your new friends are trying to stall, trying to stay here in case you wake up.  You won’t, and a small part of me is thankful for that - it means you won’t feel all that pain by yourself tonight.  As soon as they’re out the door, my arms are underneath you, lifting you up and carrying your ~~heavy~~ ass to bed.  It takes a bit of stumbling and a lot of work, but I finally manage to get you there.  I tuck you in and pull the blanket up to your ears like you like.   _You’re such a fucking kid, Tom.  I swear._  
           I’m so afraid of losing you.  It always hits me right at this moment, when I let my eyes fall on your peaceful face.  I’ve spent most of my life with you, and I couldn’t imagine it being any different.  We were meant to find each other - I’ve _always_ said it - because we’re two halves to one whole.   **We complete each other.**  We always have.  You’re my best fucking friend, Tom, but you’re _**so much more than that.**_  
          I crawl in bed beside you after locking the door and scoot as close to you as I think you’d be comfortable with, my ear near enough to your face to hear you breathe.  I won’t let you know I slept here, because it seems like you’re not too comfortable with that these days.  Not since...  Well, you know, ~~not since you started wearing that ring on your finger.~~  No, I’ll get up and act like I slept in my own bed when you start waking up.  This happens a lot lately.  I close my eyes as your soft breath blows gently against my ear.

          To be cliché (and we both know how much I despise clichés), you are my soul mate, Tom, and I’ll **_always_** love you just like I did that first night on the bedroom floor years ago.


End file.
